


You Will Be

by genevra1676



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e01 Pilot, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Guilty Sam Winchester, Hand Jobs, Hurt Dean Winchester, Lonely Dean, M/M, Minor Violence, POV First Person, POV Sam Winchester, Season/Series 01, Self-Esteem Issues, Touch-Starved Dean, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-03 09:43:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13338606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genevra1676/pseuds/genevra1676
Summary: Sam tells the Woman in White he's not unfaithful.  Is he right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was rewatching the Pilot (like you do) and started considering the Wincesty implications of Constance's statement, "You will be." And this fic was the result! Some of the dialog is taken verbatim from the episode transcript. Some things are of course altered to fit with the concept of this story.
> 
> Standard disclaimer: The words in this story are mine, but the setting and characters belong to Eric Kripke, the CW, et al.

My eyes snapped open at the sound of a window opening in the other room and someone moving around.  I looked over at Jess sleeping peacefully beside me and realized we had an intruder.  I grinned mirthlessly—this burglar was going to _seriously_ regret breaking into our apartment.  And at least I wasn’t waking up due to that damn nightmare for a change.

I got up and moved quietly out into the hallway.  A man’s shape crossed in front of the beads hanging in the doorway as I approached the main room of the apartment.  I wasn’t too worried—even though I hadn’t kept up with the intensive level of training Dad had always insisted on, I doubted some random thug could match my fighting skills.  I slipped into the room behind him and grabbed for his shoulder.

To my surprise, the trespasser spun around and knocked my arm out of the way.  I aimed a series of punches and kicks at him, and he blocked or voided each one.  I frowned—this guy was a more formidable opponent than I’d expected.  His moves so far were mostly defensive, but he seemed to anticipate my shots before I threw them, almost as if he knew—

I grunted as he swept my feet out from under me and pinned me to the floor, one hand holding down my wrist and the other at my throat.  A deep voice I hadn’t heard in nearly two years said, “Whoa, easy, tiger!”

“ _Dean_?” I exclaimed in astonishment.  “You scared the crap out of me!”

“That’s ‘cause you’re outta practice, college boy,” he replied with a laugh, then made a surprised noise when I yanked his hand and dug a heel into his back, flipping us over.  “ _Oof_!  Or not.  Okay, get offa me!”

I rolled to my feet and extended a hand to pull him up.  “Speaking of out of practice, how pissed would Dad be that you got made so easily?  And what the hell are you doing here?”

Dean dusted himself off, and I could barely make out his smirk in the dim light.  “You honestly think I _didn’t_ want you to hear me, dude?  And I’m here ‘cause we gotta talk.”

He followed me as I walked into the kitchen and turned on the lights.  My breath caught as I got my first good look at my brother in a long time.  His tawny hair was darker and longer and not as carefully styled as I remembered.  His finely drawn features were thinner, his freckled cheeks not as full, his curved lips not as pouty, all of which made him look less boyish while at the same time drawing more attention to his big, long-lashed green eyes.  His shoulders seemed broader, though Dad’s old leather jacket was still loose on him.  As impossible as I thought it could be, he was even more beautiful now, and the stampede in my heart and furnace in my groin reminded me exactly why I’d cut off all contact before.

I coughed to clear my throat and grabbed two beers out of the fridge.  “You couldn’t use the phone?”

“If I tried to call, would you have bothered to fucking answer?”  The recrimination in his glance was sharp enough to cut glass.

Before I could respond, Jess spoke up behind me.  “Sam?  What’s going on?  Who are you talking to?”

I turned to face her.  “Jess, this is my brother, Dean.  Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica Moore.”

“Nice to meetcha, and uh, sorry for waking you up.  But I gotta borrow your boyfriend here to talk ‘bout some private family business,” Dean said after giving her a cursory look and polite smile.

My eyebrows went up.  Jess was wearing a pair of _very_ short striped shorts and a cropped _Smurfs_ t-shirt, both of which showed off her long legs, toned stomach, and perky breasts.  The brother I’d known before wouldn’t have been able to resist reacting to the sight with a leer or lewd comment of some sort.  But his face now was impassive, and his eyes—the one area which he could never hide his emotions from me—were sad and a little hurt.

I crossed over to the safety of her side and said, “No.  Whatever you want to say, you can say in front of her.”

He shrugged.  “Okay.  Um . . . Dad hasn’t been home in a few days.”

“So he’s working overtime on a Miller Time shift.  He’ll stumble back sooner or later, like he always does,” I answered.  “No need to call out the cavalry.”

“Dad’s on a _hunting_ trip, and he hasn’t been home in a few days.”  I could almost hear the exasperated “duh” in his retort.

“Oh.”  I looked down at my girlfriend.  “Jess, you’ll have to excuse us.  We need to talk outside.”

I threw on jeans and a hoodie before leading Dean out of the apartment and down the stairs.  As we descended, I asked, “Alright, what’s really up?  I mean, you can’t just break in in the middle of the night and expect me to drop everything to hit the road with you.”

“Didn’t you hear me back there, Sam?  Dad’s _missing_!  I need your help to find him.”

“Dad’s _always_ fucking missing, man!” I snapped.  “How many times did he abandon us for weeks on end when we were kids, leaving you to take care of me until he finally came staggering back?  Usually only to then crawl into a bottle until he could find another hunt!”

“Not like this—he’s never been gone for so long without keeping in contact with me.  Now are you coming or not?” he demanded while we exited the building.

“I’m not.  I swore when I came here that I was done hunting for _good_ ,” I stated flatly as we crossed the parking lot to where the Impala was.  “I’ve never understood Dad’s obsession for revenge.  He put that in front of everything, including _us_.  The way we grew up—living in crappy motels or abandoned dumps, scrounging for enough money for food and clothes, never staying in the same school for more than a couple of months, learning hand-to-hand combat and weapons and shit when we were just kids—that’s _no_ way to live!  And despite putting us through all that, he _still_ hasn’t found the thing that killed Mom.”

“We’ve saved a lot of people along the way though.  So what’re you gonna do now—live some normal, apple-pie kinda life?  Marry your girl there, pop out 2.5 kids, and live in some fancy house with a white picket fence and a dog?  Is _that_ why you ran away?”

“Not normal— _safe_.  And I just went to college, like most kids do.  It was _Dad_ who told me if I was going, I should stay gone.  So that’s what I’m doing.”

“It takes two to fucking tango, Sam.  It ain’t like _you_ made any damn effort to talk to him after that big fight.  The two of you are too goddamn alike, with the same stubborn temper and stiff-necked pride!  And what ‘bout _me_?  I still tried to keep in contact by calling, texting, and dropping by when I could.  _You_ were the one who told me to butt outta your fucking life and never come back,” he said bitterly.

“Besides, this is different.  Dad’s in _real_ trouble right now, I can feel it—if he ain’t dead already,” he continued.  “I can’t do this alone.”

“Yes, you can.”

He bit his lip and looked down, his shoulders hunched.  “Yeah, well . . . I don’t wanna.”

I sighed, unable to withstand his obvious unhappiness.  “So what was he hunting?  And why weren’t you with him?”

Dean opened the Impala’s trunk and lifted the lid of the secret compartment, propping it open with a sawed-off shotgun.  “I was working my own gig—a voodoo thing down in New Orleans.”

“Dad let you hunt alone?”

He flinched slightly, a flash of pain shooting across his face.  “I’ve been on my fucking own for over a year now, dude.  Dad decided he was better off hunting solo, so he dumped my ass at Bobby’s after I got torn up on our last case together.  Ah, here’s the damn thing!”

As he pulled out a folder and described the case, I studied him.  My brother’s expression showed only concern for our father and interest in the job, but his eyes as always gave him away—they were lonely and desperate.  The Impala and its arsenal were impeccably maintained as always, but the same couldn’t be said of his person.  He used to be very fastidious and particular about the state and fit of his clothing, even if they came from a thrift store.  But now his clothes were worn, stained, and torn, and they hung on him loosely.  Despite being only a few inches shorter than I and nearly as broad in the shoulders, he somehow looked fragile, like he’d blow away in a stiff breeze.

He put away the recorder and folder, lowered the shotgun to shut the compartment, and closed the trunk lid, then leaned against the car.  “You know, in almost two years, I’ve never fucking bothered you, never asked you for a goddamn thing—just like you wanted.”

I sighed.  “Okay, I’ll come with you and help you find him.  But I _have_ to be back here first thing Wednesday morning, alright?”

“What’s so important on Wednesday?”

“I have this—this interview . . . for the law school here at Stanford.  I’ve got a really strong chance at getting another full ride if I ace this,” I said.  “It’s my whole future on a plate.  So, do we have a deal?”

His face fell, though he turned it aside it in an attempt to hide his reaction.  “Sure, Sam.  Whatever you want.”

“Why don’t you come inside and finish your beer?  I’ve got to pack a bag and let Jess know I’ll be away for a couple of days,” I suggested awkwardly.

I left Dean in the kitchen and went into the bedroom, where I pulled out a small duffle bag and began stuffing clothes inside.  Jess watched me with a perplexed look on her face.  “Wait, you’re _leaving_?  Where are you going?  What about the interview, Sam?”

“Don’t worry about the interview, babe.  I’ll be back in two days tops,” I explained.  “My dad’s up deer hunting at this old cabin, and he’s probably got Jim, Jack, and José with him.  Dean just needs my help to dry him out and drag him home.”

“And what about your classes tomorrow and on Tuesday?  You’ve _never_ skipped class before!”

“I’ll call my advisor in the morning and explain that there’s a family emergency.  I’ll see if she can contact my professors and get copies of the notes I missed.”  I started to duck into the bathroom to get my shower things.

“Sam, please stop for a second.  Are you sure you’re okay?”  She put a hand on my arm.  “I mean, you won’t talk about your family with me _ever_ , and now you’re running off after them right before your big day?  I—I just don’t get it.  I assumed you didn’t like them, and now _this_.”

“It’s not like that, Jess.  My dad and I never got along, and he pretty much kicked me out when I decided to come here.  But he’s still family, and I can’t stand by if he’s in trouble.  And Dean . . . I was never angry at _him_.  He’s always been the family peacemaker, and he got caught in the crossfire when everything blew up with Dad.  When I chose this life here over what my dad wanted, my brother was one of the things I had to leave behind.

“And now I’m worried about _him_ , even more than Dad.  Dad can usually take care of himself, and I figure getting him out of whatever mess he drank himself into won’t be hard.  But there’s _definitely_ something wrong with Dean, and I need to spend some time with him to figure out what it is—he’s not the type that opens up easily.”

Jess wrapped her arms around me.  “I understand—family’s important.  You be careful though.  And make sure your brother brings you back in time!”

“I will.  My future is here with you, and nothing’s going to change that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One obvious alteration I've made to the canon is that November 2, 2005 actually occurred on a Wednesday, not on Sunday as implied by the pilot. I figured the date was more important than the day of the week, so this story starts on the night of Sunday, October 30. Another thing I discovered is that Jericho, CA doesn't exist. The closest I could find was a former settlement by that name which is ~4 hours away from Stanford, so I used that.
> 
> Given Sam's age when the show starts and that he's in the process of applying to law schools, it's obvious that he's in his senior year at Stanford at the time--which also implies that he's been there for over 3 years. Dean's comment about not bothering Sam for nearly 2 years then suggests that initially Dean did keep in contact with Sam for at least a year. Something then happened that caused them to not keep in touch for the next couple of years. My assumption is that they had a big argument most likely instigated by Sam, as Dean is the family peacemaker and always trying to keep his family together, not apart. Throw Wincest into the mix, and it's easy to guess why Sam tried to drive Dean away. :)
> 
> This story is almost finished, and new chapters will be posted on Wednesday evenings. Constructive criticism is always welcome, and comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

I watched my brother closely over the next two days, during the course of the several-hour drive to Jericho, CA, the interactions with the police and interviews with family members, the investigation of the crime scene and research at the library.  He put up a good front—joking, teasing, bossing me around, questioning the witnesses, snarking off at the cops.  To anyone else, he presented an almost flawless image of the charming rogue, the devil-may-care hunter.

But I knew Dean better than anyone, even after two years apart, and I could see the cracks in the façade.  Like how despite all his jests, his smiles and laughs never reached his sad, sad eyes.  Or how the formerly inveterate ladies’ man didn’t flirt once with a cute witness or attractive waitress and barely seemed to notice their charms.  Or how this normally very tactile guy held himself stiffly away from everyone and almost painstakingly avoided any contact with me.  Or how when he thought no one was paying attention, his cocky swagger collapsed into a pained slump, his shoulders drooping and spine bowing under the weight of his hidden misery.

Being around him again was a challenge.  I had to work to hold onto my hard-won independence and not fall back into the role of hero-worshipping little brother.  His proximity also brought the _real_ reasons why I’d run away to college and turned away from my family flooding back, and I no longer had the excuse of teenage awkwardness to mask my reactions.  Fortunately, focusing on _his_ problems made it easier to subsume mine.  And despite the emotional undercurrents, we worked well together, uncovering the spirit’s identity and finding Dad’s motel room and research.

I stood in the middle of the room and stared at the heavy lines of salt in front of the door and windows, the cat’s eye shells scattered on the tabletops, and the sigils scrawled in chalk on the walls.  “Something had Dad _seriously_ spooked, man.  Looks like he was trying to keep something from coming in—something more than an angry spirit.”

Dean was studying the papers taped to one wall.  “He’s got all the Centennial Highway victims here.  I don’t get it though.  They’re different jobs, ages, ethnicities, everything.  So why pick these dudes?  What’s their connection?”

I looked over the pictures and notes hung on the other walls.  My eye was caught by the article we’d found earlier at the library, with the note “Woman in White” stuck above it.  “Dad figured it out.  He found the same article we did.  Constance Welch—she’s a Woman in White.”

“You sly dogs!”  He glanced at the pictures of the victims once more before turning back to me.  “Okay, if he identified what we’re dealing with, he woulda found her damn corpse and torched it first thing.”

“But Troy was killed _after_ Dad left here.  So either he didn’t get a chance to burn her remains, or she’s got another weakness,” I said.

“Well, we need to dig her up to be sure.  Does the article say where her grave is?”

“No, but if I were Dad, I’d have asked the husband.”  I peered at the article again.  “He was thirty back in ’81, which would make him fifty-four now.  So he’s likely still alive and hopefully still lives in the area.”

“Alright, then why don’t you try to find an address for him?  I’m gonna get cleaned up, and then we’ll talk to him after lunch.”  He started to walk toward the bathroom.  “Can you get my bag out of the car?”

“Sure.  And Dean?  What I said last night about Mom—I’m sorry.”

The hurt look in his eyes that he’d been wearing since we found this room deepened, and he flinched momentarily again.  He then hurriedly donned a cocky smirk and held up a hand.  “No chick-flick moments, dude.”

After returning to the room with my brother’s duffle bag, I went through it to pull out a clean change of clothes.  Clean was relative, as nearly all his things seemed ripped, shabby, and in need of a trip to the laundromat.  I once again wondered what had happened as I knocked on the bathroom door and left the clothing on the counter, pulling my eyes away from the shrouded shape behind the shower curtain.

Back in the bedroom, I wandered around and examined the various bits of lore up on the walls.  I paused in front of the dresser, where a large rosary hung in front of the mirror.  Below it was a picture that had to be over fifteen years old, showing Dad sitting on the Impala’s hood with me in his lap, Dean in a baseball cap standing next to us.  I smiled sadly as I picked it up, wishing we could be as innocent and carefree now.

Things started to go sideways after we were separated.  The authorities often misunderstood our involvement in a case, and I had to trust that Dean knew how to handle himself while in police custody.  I continued on with the plan to interview Constance’s widower and confirmed that she was indeed a Woman in White.  After placing a timely 911 call, I conferred with my brother to exchange our discoveries, planning to meet up with him so we could track down her remains together.

Just as he was telling me about Dad’s journal, a figure appeared on the road in front of me.  As I slammed on the brakes, I recognized Constance Welch from our encounter on the bridge the night before.  The Impala wasn’t able to stop in time and drove right through her.

Once the car came to a halt, I turned to look in the backseat, hearing Dean’s voice calling my name from where my phone had fallen into the foot well.  I wasn’t surprised to see Constance gazing back at me with a mournful expression.

“Take me home,” she sighed.

I wasn’t very concerned, despite knowing what had happened to every other man who found her in his car.  She couldn’t harm me, because I’d never even flirted with another girl after starting to date Jess.  And my unfortunate feelings towards my older brother couldn’t count as infidelity, as I had no intention of _ever_ acting on them.  My plans to return to my girlfriend and my normal, safe life with her hadn’t changed.

“No.  Get out—there’s nothing for you here,” I told her.

She glared at that, and the car doors suddenly locked.  I tried tugging on the lock to the driver door, then futilely pulled at the steering wheel after the Impala starting driving on its own.  My worry did increase somewhat when I realized she was driving us to the old house on Breckenridge Road.  But I still knew she couldn’t hurt me, and the house _was_ our ultimate destination tonight.  I just had to hope than Dean would figure out what had happened and meet me here.

The car pulled up in front of the dilapidated house, and the engine and lights shut off.  I glanced towards the backseat again.  “You don’t have to do this, Constance.”

Her shape wavered.  “I can never go home.”

I recognized the change in her expression.  “You’re _scared_ to go home!”

She disappeared from view, and I peered around to find her, then recoiled as she rematerialized in the passenger seat.  Before I could stop her, she climbed onto my lap and shoved me back hard enough to make the seat recline.

“Hold me?  I’m so _cold_ ,” she moaned, placing a hand on my chest.

“Get off of me!  You can’t kill me, you know.  I’m not unfaithful—I’ve never been!” I shouted angrily.

Constance stared down at me.  “You _will_ be.  Now just hold me!”

I struggled to push her away as she bent down to kiss me.  She flickered again, revealing the horrid, skull-like visage hiding beneath her pretty features, and vanished.  I looked around wildly and then yelled at a sharp pain in my chest.  I yanked my hoodie open, revealing five holes burning through the fabric of my t-shirt.  She blinked into view above me, her fingers buried in the holes in my chest.

A gunshot rang out, and the window beside me shattered.  She pulled back in surprise and scowled in Dean’s direction as he approached the car, still firing rapidly.  She disappeared and reappeared almost immediately, then vanished one more time under the onslaught of bullets.

I groaned as I sat up and started the engine.  There _had_ to be a reason why the spirit was afraid to go in the house, and I needed to take advantage of her presumed presence still inside the car.  Before I could second-guess myself, I revved the engine and informed her, “I’m taking you home!”  I then rammed the Impala through the side of the house, coming to an abrupt stop in the middle of the living room. 

Dean picked his way through the building wreckage.  “Sammy!  Are you okay?  You scared the shit outta me!”

I lifted my head from the steering wheel.  “I think . . . I think I’m alright.  Help me out of here?”

He extended a hand and helped me squeeze out of the car window, then patted me down, looking for injuries.  I gazed over to where Constance was looking down at a family photo.  She noticed us and glowered, and a bureau quickly slid across the room and pinned us against the car.

Before she could attack us further, the lights in the house sputtered, and water began to trickle down the stairs.  She glanced around with a terrified look on her face, then cautiously moved to the foot of the stairs.

“You’ve come home to us, Mommy!” two children’s voices called from the top of the stairs.

Constance gazed up, looking distraught.  Two children, the boy and girl from the photo, suddenly appeared behind her and wrapped their arms around her.  She screamed as the three of them flickered and then melted into a puddle in the floor.

Dean and I stood in the abrupt silence for a moment, then we pushed the bureau away from our legs.  We walked over and stared at the wet spot in the worn carpeting.

“Huh!  Guess this is where she offed her poor kids,” he commented.  “Good job for figuring out her weak spot, Sammy!”

I nodded.  “She was too afraid to face them—the guilt was too much.  I didn’t know _exactly_ what would happen, but I thought anything that terrified her that much could work in our favor.  What the hell were _you_ thinking though—shooting Casper in the face with regular bullets, you freak?”

“Hey, I had to improvise, seeing as how you had most of my fucking gear.  And I still managed to save your ass, didn’t I?”  He looked me over again.  “Are you alright?  Did she try to do anything to you?  Things between you and uh, Jess—there ain’t any—”

“ _No_!  There’s nothing the Woman in White could’ve used against me!” I interrupted hastily.

“That’s what I figured.”  He started to walk over to the Impala.  “I’ll tell you another thing, man.  If you screwed up my Baby, I’m gonna kill you!”

My satisfaction at solving the case was overshadowed by confusion over the spirit’s last statement, and I barely heard Dean bitching about the damage to the car as I mused over the cryptic words, “ _You will be_.”  She couldn’t have been going on some blanket assumption that all men will cheat eventually, or else she would’ve attacked far more victims over the years.  So did she somehow know something that I didn’t?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter seems a bit filler-ish. I skipped over most of the investigation into the case because I didn't feel the need to change anything there. The scenes I did include were mainly to cast light on Sam's and Dean's emotional states. The remaining chapters get into the meat of the story I want to tell.
> 
> This story is almost complete, and the next update will go up next Wednesday. Constructive criticism is always welcome, and comments and kudos make me a happy writer. :)


	3. Chapter 3

We were passing through Sacramento after driving for a couple of hours when I looked over at my brother.  “Hey man, let’s find a motel and crash for a few hours.”

Dean had been quiet since the discussion about the coordinates Dad had left us.  He now glanced at me with a raised brow.  “You sure ‘bout that, dude?  You seemed pretty fucking worried earlier ‘bout making it to your interview in time.”

“Palo Alto is only two hours from here, and my interview’s not until ten in the morning.  As long as we leave before seven, I’ll have plenty of time to change and grab the stuff I’ll need,” I explained.  “Right now we’re both beat and could use the rest.  And I’ll like to spend some time with my big brother that _doesn’t_ involve a case.”

He snorted.  “Yeah, whatever.”

Nevertheless, he turned off the highway and drove around for a bit before pulling into the parking lot of the Echo Lodge.  He ducked into the motel office and emerged with a key, then moved the car to near the end of the building.  The room we entered was a fairly standard double—two queen beds with matching comforters, TV stand, desk, mini-fridge, and microwave along the opposite wall, armchair and small table in front of the window, and small bathroom and closet in the back.

Dean dropped his bag on the bed closest to the door and toed off his boots.  “I’m gonna take a shower and then hit the sack.  Think you remember how to lay down proper salt lines, college boy?”

“Wait, Dean!  I thought . . . I want to _talk_ to you, not go to sleep right away.”

He shot me a derisive glare while pulling out his shower bag.  “What’s the _point_ , dumbass?  You made it _real_ fucking clear that you wanna go back to being Joe College and forgetting ‘bout your family.  You think a coupla hours of sharing and caring is gonna make up for that shit?  I’d rather not waste my breath and spend the time getting some goddamn sleep in an actual bed!”  He stormed across the worn carpet and slammed the bathroom door shut.

I sighed and decided to try again when he emerged.  I stripped down to my boxers and undershirt and lay down on top of the comforter of the other bed.  I then turned the TV on low volume and flipped channels until I found a _CSI_ marathon, which sadly was the most palatable thing on at this hour.

The bathroom door opened ten minutes later, and Dean stepped out with a towel slung around his hips.  “Forgot to bring my sleep clothes in with me.”

I gasped in shock at his unclad appearance.  His broad-shouldered frame was _thin_ , just lean muscle stretched over bone with no flesh to spare.  His pale skin was littered with scars—it looked like he’d earned more in the past two years than in the dozen before that.  Bruises of varying age, size, and shape were also scattered about his body, including hand-shaped bruises on his hips peeking over the edges of the towel—bruises far too large to have been made by any woman.  I’d suspected that things were bad, but not like _this_ . . .

I shot to my feet.  “Fucking hell, Dean!  What the fuck have you been _doing_ to yourself?”

He looked down at himself briefly.  “Don’t sweat it, man.  Been taking care of myself just _fine_ since you bailed.”

I stared at him incredulously.  ” _Bullshit!_   You’re obviously _not_ being careful on hunts with how banged up you are.  You _barely_ ate anything the past two days, just pushed your food around on the plate.  Your comment about an actual bed—what, you’ve been mostly sleeping in the car?  And hell, you never used to pass up an opportunity to hit on a pretty girl, but I haven’t even seen you _looking_ lately!”

He shrugged as he crossed the room to his bed.  “The girl thing ain’t a big deal, okay?  I just got tired of the charade.  Dad ain’t around, so it ain’t worth the fucking effort to pretend to be interested.”

“Charade?  Wait, you’re _gay_?”  I gaped at him.  “How—how long have you known?  Why didn’t _I_ know?”

“I’ve _always_ known, dude.  But Dad made it pretty damn obvious over the years how he felt ‘bout ‘fags.’  So I flirted with lots of girls in front of you both, even pretended to leave the bar with one sometimes if she was sympathetic enough to help maintain the act.”

“Okay, I totally get hiding this from Dad.  But you could’ve told _me_ , man!  And what kind of guys have you been going with that leave bruises like _that_?”

He shrugged again while rummaging in his bag.  “Getting ridden hard is ‘bout the only time I feel anything anymore.  Besides, guys like that usually pay better.”

“You’re turning _tricks_?  What the fuck, Dean?  _Why_?”

“I still gotta buy ammo and gas, and sometimes setting up a good pool hustle is just too much goddamn work.  People are always talking ‘bout my cocksucking lips and fuckable ass, so why not use ‘em?”  He smiled sardonically.  “Besides, how d’ya think I managed to keep you fed and clothed and shit when we were younger, when Dad would leave us with fifty fucking bucks to last two whole weeks?”

“Oh God!  Why didn’t you ever _say_ anything back then?  If not to me, then to Pastor Jim or Bobby?  They would’ve—”  I stopped and scowled.  “You’re trying to change the subject, aren’t you?  Nice try, but it’s not going to work.  You need to tell me what’s wrong _now_!  Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“Just leave it.  It don’t matter,” Dean said dismissively as he pulled out a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants.

I caught hold of his upper arms.  “Of _course_ it fucking matters!  _Talk_ to me, man!”

“No, it don’t!  _I_ don’t matter!  There ain’t anyone, ‘cept maybe for Bobby, who’s gonna shed a goddamn tear if I get fucking ganked!” he shouted before knocking my hands loose.

“That—that’s _not_ true!  People _do_ care about you!”

“Oh, _really_?  Like who?” he sneered.  “Dad?  I busted my _balls_ my whole damn life to try to be the kinda hunter, the kinda _son_ he’d be proud of.  I learned to walk and talk and dress like him, learned to like his music, his car, his booze, _everything_.  All just to get _one_ fucking ‘Good job, son,’ that never ever came.  Dad musta thought I was just slowing him down, so he dumped me as soon as he could!  Only time I hear from _him_ anymore is when he’s got a case for me.

“And _you_?  Man, I gave you _everything_ I fucking could!  I raised you, protected you, taught you, I went hungry, stole, and _sold_ myself for you, I gave up my childhood and my dreams and my future for you.  I even supported you when you went to college, despite the shitstorm I got whenever Dad found out I talked to you or visited you.  And what do I get for all that?  You running away from me _every_ fucking chance you got, and then telling me two years ago that I was dragging you down and that you never wanted to see me again!

“So tell me again, Sam—why should I give a single fuck ‘bout my life when _no one else_ goddamn does?”  He stopped, his chest heaving and tears streaking his face.

I staggered back for a moment figuratively, barely able to face the anger, loneliness, and misery in front of me.  More than that, I was _appalled_ at my own selfishness.  I’d been so wrapped up in my own goals, so concerned with getting away from Dad, hunting, and my own lustful emotions, that I never stopped to think how my actions were affecting my brother.  I just assumed that he’d be fine and didn’t once look back to check.

“Oh, Dee . . .”  I stepped forward and clasped his hands.  “Listen, I can’t speak for Dad, but . . .  I know he does care about both of us, even if he has shitty ways of showing it.  So it’s more likely that he was trying to keep you _safe_ when he left you behind. 

“Think about it!  Whenever he was tracking down whatever killed Mom when we were kids, he _always_ left us with Pastor Jim or Bobby rather than bring us anywhere _near_ what he was chasing.  Even when we were old enough to help him, he _never_ risked bringing us along for _those_ hunts.  If Dad’s been hot on the trail of this thing the past couple of years, he probably thinks it’d put you in too much danger to stay with him.  He deserves a huge smack upside the head for not _telling_ you anything, but I’m sure he means well.

“As for what _I’ve_ done . . . Dean, I am _so_ sorry!  I’ve been so focused on what _I_ wanted, what _I_ needed, that I didn’t realize how much I was hurting _you_.  I—I should’ve found a better way to deal with my problems than cutting you out of my life.

“I need you to know that—that I love you _so_ much!  You’re more than my big brother—you’ve been my mother, my father, my best friend, my _hero_.  You—you’re the most important person in my life, and I can’t believe I let you think that you don’t matter to me!”

My brother pulled his hands free and shoved me away, snarling, “ _Bullshit_ yourself, asshole!  You spent the past two fucking years living your happy life and pretending I don’t exist.  Never gave me a single goddamn thought this whole time, did you?  Then I show up in shitty shape, and _now_ suddenly you’re all touchy-feely and caring?  You can take your yuppie pity party and _shove_ it up your ass!”

“Dammit, this _isn’t_ some temporary guilt thing!”  I threw my arms around him and pulled him down until we were both sitting on his bed.  “I _never_ stopped thinking about you!  Whenever anything good happened, I wanted to share it with you.  Whenever something had me down, I wanted you to make it better.  Every day, I wanted to hear your opinions, your advice, even your bad jokes!  I _never_ stopped missing you!”

He stared up at me, tears running down his cheeks again.  “Then _why_?  Why did you kick me out like that?  I never could figure out what the fuck went wrong.  What did I _do_ to make you say those things, to make you wanna have nothing to do with me?”

“God no, it was never _you_!  You were always the best big brother and friend I could ever hope for, and _you_ didn’t do anything wrong!  The problem was _me_!  I—I chased you away because . . . because I was terrified that I’d let it slip if you were around, that you’d find out an—and be revolted!  I thought you’d be better off away from me instead, so I said those hateful, untrue things that day to force you to leave.  But I never _meant_ any of it!”

“What the _hell_ are you talking ‘bout, Sam?  You’ve been the center of my world since I was four fucking years old, and there ain’t _anything_ that could make me turn my back on you!  I—I’d rather know that you’re a serial killer or—or pig-fucker or whatever you think your big dark secret is, instead of you not wanting me in your life!  So what was _so_ fucking bad that you were willing to do _this_ to me?” he demanded.

I jerked back in a panic.  “I _can’t_!  You—you’ll _hate_ me if you know!  Besides, the important thing is that I’ve realized I was _completely_ wrong before, and I’m _so_ sorry for putting you through so much pain!  I want you back in my life if you’ll have me.  I—I want us to be brothers again.”

The expression on Dean’s face told me he wasn’t letting go so easily.  “Don’t try to pull that shit with me!  If you don’t trust how I feel ‘bout you, how much you matter to me, then why do you want me back?  And how do you expect me to believe that _this_ is how you really feel, as opposed to what you shouted at me two fucking years ago, if you won’t tell me the _truth_?  Cut the crap, Sam!”

I’d painted myself into a corner, and there was nothing I could do about it.  If I told him the truth, I risked that he might storm off in disgust and never want to see me again.  But if I _didn’t_ , I would _definitely_ lose him for good.  I had to take my chances and then deal with the consequences.

I took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes.  “Fine!  You want to know the _real_ reason why I ran away to college and why I tried to drive you away after that?  It’s because I’m in _love_ with you!  That’s right, I’m a sick goddamn freak who’s wanted you in a way that _no_ brother ever should since I was thirteen, and the longer I was around you, the harder it became to control myself!  Even after this time apart, all I want to do when I see you is kiss you!  That’s the whole fucking truth!  Are you _satisfied_ now?”

He sat very still and stared at me for a long moment before slowly shaking his head.  “You stupid, _stupid_ sonofabitch!”  Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've obviously taken a few liberties with the canon here. We know that Dean was hurt when first Sam and then John left him during the Stanford years. Given how all-important family is to him and how low his self-esteem is outside of it, I figured it wasn't too far of a leap to imagine Dean falling into a depressive state, feeling that he has no worth unless he's saving people and not caring about himself outside of that. I also figured that it would have to take something major to convince Sam to act on his feelings after so many years of repressed pining, especially so soon after the Woman in White incident. So seeing the mess Dean is in (a mess that partially his fault) and realizing that many of his assumptions about his brother are wrong brings things to a head . . .
> 
> I once again meant to post this earlier in the day, but I'm still recovering from Friday's chemo treatment. The story is almost complete, and the next chapter will be posted in a week. Constructive criticism is always welcome, and comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

I had about thirty seconds to process the kiss.  Then Dean’s brows drew together, and he delivered a hard slap upside my head.  “You dumb motherfucker!  _That_ was your terrible secret?  Are you _stupid_ or something?  You _really_ thought that me finding out you wanna jump my bones was _worse_ than treating me like a goddamn leper for two fucking years?”

“OW!”  I ducked my head.  “You’re right—I’m a total fucking moron.  I—I wasn’t thinking very clearly when I first caused that fight, though that’s not an excuse for keeping you away after that.  But I had _no_ clue you felt like this too—you never said or did anything to indicate you thought of me as anything but your little brother!”

“Of course I didn’t, dumbass!  I _couldn’t_ make the first move.  I’m more than your big brother—I practically _raised_ you.  There’s _no_ way I could abuse that position!  If I’d been the one to instigate something when you were younger, how could I know if you were responding ‘cause you _wanted_ to or ‘cause you felt you _had_ to?  I’d rather we just stayed brothers forever than take advantage of you!” he retorted.

I felt even more ashamed.  “I’m sorry, Dee.  You were concerned about me, and as usual I’ve only been thinking about myself.  But I—I’m going to do better from now on.  I want to be part of your life again, if you can bring yourself to forgive me.  I understand if you can’t though, and if that’s the case then I’ll figure out how to earn your trust again.  Just . . . tell me what _you_ want.”

“’Course I want you back, even if you _are_ a goddamn fucking idiot!  But you hafta _mean_ it this time, Sam.  I—I can’t take this shit anymore if you decide to run off again.”  He gave me a very direct look, his long-lashed eyes still damp.

“I understand, and I _won’t_ screw up like that again.  I _never_ meant to hurt you.”  I put my arms around him again, and when he didn’t push me away, I asked quietly.  “Can I—can I kiss you?”

“You _sure_ that’s what you want, dude?  ‘Cause there ain’t anything _normal_ or _safe_ ‘bout hooking up with your brother,” Dean said skeptically.  “So if you’re just gonna freak out later, I’d rather pass.”

“There’s nothing I want more than to be with you, I swear!  And this isn’t just about sex, man.  I _love_ you, and I want to show you how important you are to me.”  I glanced at him hesitantly.  “This—our being together—doesn’t bother _you_?”

He snorted.  “Look at my fucking life and tell me when I’ve ever been an upstanding, law-abiding citizen!  My only concern before was not hurting _you_.  If this makes _us_ happy, it ain’t anyone else’s goddamn business.  So yeah, I’m all in as long as you are, Sammy.”

I took a deep breath and kissed him tentatively.  He threaded a hand through my hair and returned the kiss firmly, licking at my bottom lip.  Emboldened by his reaction, I deepened the kiss until his pink lips parted, then slid my tongue inside.  My hands slid down the damp skin of his firm back, while his free hand slipped under my shirt.  We exchanged ardent kisses for several minutes, our tongues dancing around each other and our hands roaming across the other’s torso.

My brother eventually sat back, breathing heavily.  “S—sorry ‘bout that—didn’t mean to go so far.”

“Huh?  What are you talking about?” I asked in befuddlement.

He shrugged self-deprecatingly.  “Figure you ain’t too interested in anything more, given how fucked up I look right now.”

I kissed him again before responding.  “Dee, you’re always the most beautiful person I’ve known, even covered in stinky river mud or wearing a burlap sack or whatever.  Seeing how you’ve neglected yourself saddens me, but it doesn’t make me want you any less.”

I paused to look at him gravely.  “But please, you have to _promise_ me that you’ll take better care of yourself from now on!  No more taking unnecessary risks during hunts, no more subsisting on the bare minimum food or sleep, no more . . . no more hooking up with guys that just treat you like a piece of meat.  Okay?”

“You ain’t gotta worry ‘bout the last thing if we’re together.  You’ve been the only one I really want for the past five years.  As for the rest . . . I’ll do my best, man.  I—I just . . . just need to know that someone gives a rat’s ass ‘bout me,” he replied.

I pushed him gently back onto the bed and leaned over him.  “Oh I do, Dee.  I care about you more than _anything_ else in this world.  And I’ll prove it over and over to you if I have to, until you _believe_ that you mean everything to me!”

With that, I reclaimed his lush mouth and kissed him passionately.  As he kissed back just as enthusiastically, I ran my hands up his chest and fondled his pectoral muscles.  My fingers circled his areolae for a moment before flicking and tugging on his tender nipples.  He gasped and swung his legs up onto the mattress, and the towel came undone and fell open with his movement. 

I sat back to admire the sight.  I’d seen my brother naked before—growing up in cramped motel rooms made it unavoidable—but those other times had been brief glimpses while we tried to maintain some small bit of privacy.  Now I looked my fill upon his wide shoulders, strong arms, broad chest, flat stomach, narrow hips, long legs, and freckled skin.  And the _pièce de résistance_ was the long, dusky cock curving up towards his belly.  The weight loss, bruises, and scars did little to detract from the beauty of his person in my eyes.

“Take a damn picture—it’ll last longer,” he groused, his high-boned cheeks flushed in embarrassment at the attention, while reaching out and pulling my shirt off.

“Better get used to it, big brother.  I’ve got free reign to ogle you now and nearly ten years of repressed leering to make up for!”  I smiled down at him as I settled between his legs.  “You really have no idea how irresistible you are, do you?”

“Dude, I’m trying to decide if college made you more of a perv or more of a girl.  D’ya ta— _ahh_!”

Dean’s words cut off abruptly as I bent down and put my mouth on one of his perky nipples.  I suckled and nibbled on the sensitive nub for a bit before switching to the other.  He groaned and hauled me up to latch onto my lips, then proceeded to prove _exactly_ how skilled of a kisser he was.  When he finally let me up for air, I licked and nipped my way down his neck until I reached the base, where I worked on sucking a mark at the juncture between his neck and shoulder. 

At the same time, I wrapped my hand around his thick shaft and started to stroke, marveling at the texture of his soft skin.  He bucked his hips with a frantic whine and dug a hand into my hair.  He then slid the other between us into the fly of my boxers to pull my member out and began to jerk it in time with my hand on his cock.  We were soon gasping and rocking our pelvises together as we jacked each other off.  I buried my face in his shoulder to muffle my shout as I came all over his stomach, and I heard him cry out and felt his seed spurt over my fingers moments later.

I rolled over and collapsed beside my brother, panting heavily.  He reached down to snag the towel and used it to first clean off his abdomen and then my hand before tossing it in the direction of the bathroom.

“Sorry I didn't last longer, man,” I said sheepishly.  “I just—I’ve just been imagining this for so long . . . so to finally be able to touch you . . .”

“’Sokay, kiddo—I get it.  I got pretty fucking excited too!”  He grinned at me, then started to reach for the covers.

“Hey, don't get comfortable!  I’m not done with you yet—like I said before, I got nearly ten years to make up for!” I told him as I got up and went over to his bag.  “ _Please_ tell me you’ve got lube in here.”

Dean's grin widened.  “And they say romance is dead.  Inside pocket, left side.”

I found the pocket and pulled out a small bottle of lube.  I also extracted a string of foil-wrapped condoms and turned to face him.  “Am I going to need these too?”

He shrugged.  “That's your call.  I’ve always used protection.  Might not have given much of a shit ‘bout my own life recently, but I wasn’t gonna risk getting some other poor bastard sick.”

I dropped the condoms back in the bag.  Maybe it was a foolish choice, but I didn't want anything between us, not even a layer of latex.  And I trusted my brother—there was no way he'd risk my health.  So if he said he was clean, then I believed him.

I returned to the other bed and stretched out beside him.  I first popped the lube open and dribbled some on my fingers, then leaned down and captured his full lips in a deep, slow kiss.  At the same time, I rubbed a finger down his perineum and around the puckered furl of his entrance.  He made a low purring noise as my finger gradually pushed inside, past the outer ring of muscle into the tight heat of his passage.  I continued to kiss him while sliding the finger in and out.

“More, Sammy,” Dean whispered against my mouth.  “Gimme _more_!”

I slicked up a second finger and carefully pushed it in, then started twisting and spreading them to stretch his taut walls.  He arched his back and dug his fingers into my shoulder, tossing his head and cursing softly.  After a couple minutes, I added a third finger and felt around until I found that sensitive nub.  I soon had him keening as I rubbed against his prostate.

“C’mon, I’m ready!  Need you to fuck me, man!” he begged.

I pulled my fingers out and sat back to shove my boxers off.  My brother watched admiringly as I poured more lube on my cock and settled in between his legs.  He grabbed the back of his thighs and lifted them up, giving easy access to his pink hole.  I rubbed myself a couple of times and then brushed the head of my cock against his rim before entering him.

I kept a close eye on his face for any signs of discomfort or pain while I slowly sank into his channel.  Instead he hummed and raised his hips as I bottomed out.  I began thrusting slowly, shifting the angle of my strokes until widened eyes and a loud gasp told me I’d found his prostate again.  I then picked up speed, making sure to graze against his sweet spot with nearly every pass.  He rocked his hips in time with mine and rhythmically squeezed around my member as I drove into him.

This was easily one of the most amazing experiences of my life.  And not just for the physical sensations—though the feel of his snug inner walls sliding and flexing around my cock, of his strong limbs embracing and caressing my body, of his soft lips kissing and nuzzling my mouth _was_ intoxicating.  What really rocked my world was that this was with _Dean_ , something I’d dreamt about for nearly half my life but never believed would ever truly happen.  To know that he loved me, wanted me, _needed_ me in the same way I felt about him . . . I could barely imagine anything topping this.

I snapped my pelvis even more vigorously against his ass, pounding repeatedly into his prostate.  His cries increased in intensity, which in turn spurred my passion even higher.  As I started to approach my peak, I slid a hand between our sweaty torsos and wrapped it around his rigid cock.  It took only a few strokes before he screamed and stiffened, his cum shooting across his belly and his anus clenching around my shaft.  I plunged into him a couple more times before ejaculating deep inside with a hoarse shout.

My muscles went limp as the orgasm ripped through me, and I was barely able to control my fall to land next to my brother, our arms and legs still entwined.  We lay like that for several minutes, simply trying to catch our breaths.  I eventually propped myself up on an elbow and gazed down at him, reveling in the sight of his flushed skin, heavy eyes, and sated smile.

“God, Dee . . . that was _incredible_!  You’ve made me the happiest guy ever!”  I leaned down and caught his mouth in another kiss.

Dean rolled over on top of me with a laugh.  “Hey, we’re just getting started here tonight, baby!  Like you said, we got _years_ to catch up on!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've achieved smut!
> 
> I once again meant to post this earlier in the day, but the migraine fairy decided to visit. I was also distracted because some waste of oxygen posted a comment on my other story (Nothing Else Matters) claiming that I "gave myself" cancer through my "negative energy" or some such BS. Like really? How pathetic and shitty must this person's life be that they feel the need to spew their filth on someone else, particularly someone who is sick? Gah!
> 
> Anyhoo, the last chapter will go up next Wednesday. Constructive criticism is always welcome, and kudos and comments are highly appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

My first thought when I awoke was that the previous night was merely a dream.  But the sight of my brother curled in my arms, his face pressed into my shoulder, soon dissipated that fear.  As did the lingering lethargy in my muscles after hours of lovemaking, which prevented my groin from doing more than twitch now despite the warm, gorgeous body wrapped around me.

I looked down as he murmured drowsily and attempted to burrow deeper into my side.  This was probably one of the biggest surprises of the night, learning that my seemingly stoic big brother was actually an avid cuddler.  Because for as eager as he was for the sex itself, he seemed almost desperate for my kisses, hugs, and any other sign of affection.  I felt guilty once again at the thought of the loneliness and isolation our family had inflicted upon him.

I lay there for a while, content to watch him sleep peacefully.  It felt like years since I’d seen him so relaxed, and he looked younger without the walls he usually surrounded himself with.  Eventually though I had to slip out of bed to get washed up so we could leave in time.

When I emerged from the bathroom, Dean was awake, sitting up and watching me with a carefully still expression.  “So now what, Sam?  Am I still dropping you off at Stanford like before?”

I sat beside him and gave him a deep, lingering kiss before responding.  “Hardly!  I want you to come with me.  Hear me out!  I figure whatever’s at those coordinates can’t be too time-sensitive, because Dad couldn’t know when you’d find his journal.  So there’s no harm in waiting a couple more days, right? 

“Today’s already Wednesday, and I’ve got that interview to deal with today.  Friday afternoon I don’t have classes, so we can make an early start to Colorado then.  In the meantime, you can see how much you can research from here, particularly if I can get you into the university library.  And frankly, you could use a couple of days of proper rest and good food before taking on another case.  Sound like a plan?”  I looked at him expectantly.

“Uh huh.  And which of us is sleeping on the couch during that time?  Or does your happy little fantasy include your _girlfriend_ being okay with me joining the two of you in bed?” he asked skeptically.

“Oh God, _Jess_!”  I stared in shock, realizing that I’d barely thought of her at all since calling last night to tell her we were stopping at a motel for a few hours.  “I—I’ve messed everything up!  What do I _say_ to her?  Sh—she knows that we’re _brothers_!  And if—if she tells anyone else—”

His face twisted into a bitter smile.  “Regrets already?  Shoulda known this was too good to last.  Guess it’ll be better to leave you there after all . . . wouldn’t wanna ruin _your_ life.”  He threw the covers off and started to rise.

I immediately caught him in my arms and pulled him back down.  “Dammit, no!  Don’t do this!  I’m _not_ ashamed of you, of _us_!  I meant everything I said last night, okay?  _You’re_ what I’ve always wanted most, not college, not law school . . . not even _her_.  I’ve just—just got to figure out the way to tell her that’ll hurt her the least.”

He glanced down contritely.  “Sorry, Sammy.  I—I guess I’m still having a hard time believing you really want _me_ after all this.  I ain’t trying to make you choose between me and her.  If you need more time to decide how you wanna break this to her, we can keep quiet until we get back from Blackwater Ridge or something.”

I sighed.  “No, she deserves better than that.  I’ll tell her the truth after I get back from the interview and then deal with the fallout.”

“Sorry, man.  I didn’t mean to mess everything up for you.”

I clasped his hands.  “You didn’t, Dee!  Last night and this morning are the _happiest_ I can ever remember being!  Yeah, this is probably going to interfere with the plans I had before, but . . . plans change.  You were right the other day, that what I was trying to do wasn’t healthy—hiding my past, pretending to be something I’m not.  I’m _not_ normal and never will be, and . . . and there’s nothing _wrong_ with that.

“And you were right about me and Dad being too much alike.  He threw away everything else in his life, including us, in the pursuit of revenge.  I almost did the same chasing after safety instead.  But there has to be something in the middle, right?  Because I know you’re not going to want to give up helping people, and I’m not going to give up _you_.  We just need to find what works for _us_ , what makes _us_ happy, instead of doing things his way or my way.”  I leaned in and kissed him again.

“Sam, that was so . . . moving, so _deep_.  I’m . . . I’m having a moment here.”  Dean smirked and ducked my swat, then continued, “Seriously though, baby boy . . . I’ll back whatever play you wanna make.  I get that this ain’t gonna be easy for either of us.  But it’s gotta be better than the past coupla shitty years.  I can deal with pretty much anything else as long as you’re with me.

“And who knows, maybe Jess will take this better than you think?  I dunno much ‘bout your girl yet, but she _does_ love you a lot.  I know that as much as I wanna keep you for yourself, I—I wouldn’t mind sharing if it’d make you happy.  Maybe . . . maybe she’ll feel the same.”  He glanced down with flushed cheeks.

I scrubbed a hand through my hair.  “God, I don’t know if something like that would be _possible_.  We’ve always been completely monogamous and never discussed shit like threesomes even for fun.  I have _no_ idea how she’d react to the idea of something like _this_ as a—a serious thing.  And that’s not even touching the fact that you’re my brother . . .”

“Well, if it came down to a choice between sharing you or losing you, I know which one _I’d_ pick.  You gotta tell her regardless, so it can’t hurt to put the option out there and see what she thinks.  Now lemme up so I can get dressed, okay?”  He stood and stretched, then put a hand on my shoulder.  “Don’t worry too much, Sammy.  We’ll figure all this out somehow.”

We packed up and checked out, and then made a brief stop at Dunkin Donuts for breakfast before getting back on the road.  Dean was fairly quiet for about the first hour, other than occasionally humming along to _Led Zeppelin II_.  I was deep in thought, trying to figure out the best way to break the news of not only last night’s events but my entire past to Jess.

Eventually he cleared his throat and glanced at me.  “So . . . d’ya really think this can work, Sam?  You staying in school _and_ helping me hunt?  I assume that’s what you’re planning, since you’re still going to your interview and also talking ‘bout checking out Colorado this weekend.”

“I don’t see why not, why we can’t use Stanford as a base of operations.  It’s what other hunters do, like Bobby, Pastor Jim, and Caleb.  And _they_ have other jobs besides hunting too,” I replied.  “We don’t _have_ to do things the way Dad does.  We can find out how we can balance hunting with still having a life.”

“But is this something you even _want_ to do?  I mean, the whole reason you came out here was to get away from this shit!  What happened to _normal_ and _safe_?”

“ _You_ happened, Dee,” I told him.  “I’ll be honest—I’d be perfectly content to stay out of hunting once we find Dad.  But I know you want to be out there saving people, and I won’t let you work alone.  _You’re_ my priority, and I’ll make everything else fit in somehow.  If I want to be less like Dad, then I have to learn to compromise.”

He frowned.  “I dunno ‘bout this.  If you’re only doing it for me—”

“Then it’s about damn time that someone did!” I interrupted.  “You’ve devoted your whole life to taking care of me and Dad, and you’ve gotten jack-shit in return because both he and I were only focused on what _we_ wanted.  Well, that’s changed as of last night.  I’m going to concentrate on what _you_ want from now on, whether it’s hunting or getting a job or anything else.”

“Dude, what did I say ‘bout turning everything into a giant chick-flick?” he protested.  But his expression was pleased as he turned up the radio.

It wasn’t much longer before we reached Palo Alto and pulled up in front of my apartment building.  There was over an hour left before my interview, giving me plenty of time to shower, change, and gather the materials I’d need.  I got out of the car and stretched before moving to the trunk.

My brother watched as I pulled my bag out.  “What’s the plan for talking to your girl?  You want me to stay scarce?”

“I don’t have the time to talk to her before the law school interview,” I said.  “So you’re welcome to hang out here until I get back, as long as Jess doesn’t mind.  But once I sit her down to explain what’s going on . . . it’s probably best if it’s just the two of us.  There’s a nice coffee shop around the corner you can wait at until I give you a call.”

He nodded and followed me inside.  I looked around a bit nervously when we entered the apartment, but there was no sign of Jess in the main room.  I felt a pang of guilt at the sight of a plate of chocolate-chip cookies on the kitchen counter with a note stating, “Missed you!  Love you!”  Dean grabbed a couple of cookies and flopped on the couch while I moved into the bedroom.

I was about to call out Jess’ name when I heard the shower running.  So I dropped my bag on the bed instead and lay back beside it with my eyes closed, needing a moment to gather my thoughts before preparing for the interview. 

A drop of something warm and thick splatted onto my forehead, followed by another.  I reached up to touch the liquid and opened my eyes, staring at the red on my fingers in befuddlement.  Then my gaze drifted upward, and I froze in horror.

Jess was pinned to the ceiling above me, her face contorted in fear and pain.  Her long blond hair was fanned around her head, her limbs were splayed stiffly, and a long bloody cut over her stomach bisected her satin nightie.  Every detail was _exactly_ the same as in the nightmares which had been plaguing me nearly every night for the past week.  I stared at her pale face for a moment, and then flames burst out from her body.

“ _NO!_   Jess!  Jess!”  I screamed before throwing an arm up to protect my face from the heat.

I could barely hear Dean shouting my name over the roar of the fire, and I continued to call out to her as he grabbed me and dragged me from the room.  He paused by the front door to quickly check me over, then pulled me outside.  I was vaguely aware of him banging on the doors to the other apartments as we made our way through the hall and down the stairs.

The next few hours passed in a blur.  There were wailing of sirens and whirling of lights as fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars arrived on the scene, and then shouting and running as the various emergency responders did their jobs.  I huddled on the hood of the Impala with my brother’s arm around my shoulders and barely paid attention as he answered any questions directed at me. 

I eventually found myself in a motel room a few blocks from the campus.  Though it was only the middle of the day, I made no protest as Dean stripped us both down and tucked us into the single king bed.  Safe in his arms, I finally let go of the fog wrapping around my mind.  I buried my face in his shoulder and sobbed as I was wracked by grief, anger, regret, and more.

The strongest emotion running through me as I cried myself to sleep was guilt.  Guilt that I’d ignored the warnings in my dreams, that I could’ve possibly prevented this tragedy.  Guilt that I’d never told Jess the truth about my past, that I could’ve somehow prepared her for the horrors following my family.  Guilt that I’d wronged her last night, that now I’d never be able to make amends.  And most of all, guilt for the secret gladness I felt as I embraced Dean desperately—because if whatever had killed my mother twenty-two years ago had murdered Jess today to destroy who I loved the most, _they killed the wrong person_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sammy . . .
> 
> I apologize if anyone was hoping that this would end differently than in canon, that the boys would work something out with Jess or whatever. Unfortunately, that was not the intent of this story. I'll admit I was tempted, but in the end I didn't want to drag this out longer than I'd originally planned. Maybe someday I'll explore the idea of Jess and the boys further . . .
> 
> So that's it for this story! I hope you enjoyed it, and please let me know what you think in the comments. :)


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